Insert title here
by daisygirl978
Summary: bad at summaries... 12 year old Veronica thought it was going to be a normal, great snow day... when a stranger made it take a turn for the worst.


_December 10, 1967_

_Dear Journal,_

_It's a snow day! Yes! I'm so glad we finally have a day away from school. I've needed it soooo badly. There have been way too many tests. Mean teachers. I wish I could be as smart as one of the nerds. I barely pass all of my subjects. The test in algebra was the worst one. I probably failed it. If only Mom would let me get a tutor, but she complains it's too much money, and that I'll just stay at home anyway._

_I can see all the snow on the ground outside… It looks powdery. It must be great sledding snow today! Even though we won't be able to make a snowman or have a snowball fight, we can still have a great time. I should probably do my homework once I come inside… I don't want to be given a detention for not finishing. Mom would be furious if that happened. _

_Oh! A knock at the door! It must be Cynthia wanting me to go sled with her! I can't wait. _

_Warm Regards,_

_Veronica_

I remember writing every letter of that journal entry. It's etched in my memory. I remember going to answer the door, seeing Cynthia in her giant purple coat and the hand quilted scarf her grandmother had sewn for her.

I remember the snow falling in large flakes, and Cynthia and I spun in circles catching them on our tongues. We ran to get our sleds and raced down the hill in Cynthia's backyard, over and over again, never getting over the thrill that sleds brought to us.

One time when we reached the bottom of the hill, we rolled off our sleds and decided to make snow angels. We were having so much fun, making snow angel after snow angel, and making their wings connect at the tips.

I even remember when a man came walking up our street. He was hunched over, his red and black scarf trailing behind him in the wind. He had a black knit hat on too, with a neck guard covering his face.

Neither I nor Cynthia thought anything of this man. At least until he approached us.

"Good day girls." The man said to us cheerfully, yet there was an eerie air to the man himself. His eyes squinted at us, and you could see the tip of a grin from under the neck guard, and it wasn't a warm smile.

"Uh, hi." Cynthia mumbled. I didn't say anything. I just gradually inched closer to Cynthia, and entwined my arm with hers.

"You two off school today, hmm?" he asked us. No reply from Cynthia. I figured it was my turn to talk.

"Yes sir. Who are you?" I questioned daringly.

"A friend of your parents." He was lying through his teeth, I could tell. Dad passed away when I was 4. A real friend would have known this, and would have said, "A friend of your moms." But he didn't.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I started to back up towards our sleds, bringing Cynthia with me. The man with the neck guard just came all the closer. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, and I gently pulled Cynthia closer to me out of fear, and for comfort. Part of me wondered what would happen if the man grabbed out at us, but I mainly searched for a way out.

_The sleds._

I let go of Cynthia's arm in one swift motion and jumped onto my sled, praying Cynthia had jumped onto hers as well. I knew I'd be safe once I got on the sled. It's near impossible to run fast in 6 inches of snow, let alone do this running down a steep hill. The sled then raced to the bottom of the hill, running smoothly through the powdery snow. Once I thought I was far enough away, I stood up and looked back towards the top. The man was still there, and to my complete and utter terror, so was Cynthia.

Cynthia.

I started running towards the top again, knowing something bad would happen anyway. I tried to scream, but no sound came. The man's hand was on Cynthia's wrist, holding her back. She must have been petrified. But she wasn't, I saw.

His other hand was on a knife, and that knife was held to my best friend's neck.

I sprinted all the faster. I couldn't lose her.

The man glanced behind Cynthia's shoulder, and saw me, not that far now.

Then at a flick of his wrist, the knife sliced Cynthia's neck open. She fell to the ground, and the man ran hastily away. Then my voice came back.

"CYNTHIA!" I wailed. She looked up at me, held my hand and squeezed it. Her mouth opened as if she were about to say something, but only blood trailed out from the corner or her lips. I felt tears coming, and gradually falling down my cheeks. Her eyes glazed over and her head fell to the side, and blood continued to spill out onto the pure white snow.

"NO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I cried on top of Cynthia, sobbing, more like, until someone pulled me away. The sirens wailed, though to me it registered as a dull background noise, everything going by as a blur, but the one thing that stood out was my friend, my best friend, who was like the sister I never had but had always wanted, being carried away on a stretcher into an ambulance.

And so that was the day. One of the worst days of my life.

The day Cynthia died.


End file.
